


looking out for you, like i always do

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9472790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Murder. Murder. Murder. Money, maybe, like the last time?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sensitive Cowboys (The Fragile Bodies Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/121718) by [Amatia (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Amatia). 



> title comes from ''looking out for you'' by joy again.

As Patrick steps out of the car, the smell hits him so hard he thinks he might faint. He pinches his nose quickly as he hears Summer ask him if he's alright.  


''Fine,'' he replies, taking a few small steps towards the heap of crushed metal that used to identify as a vehicle. ''The smell won't even be the worst thing,'' he says as he sees souls restlessly flying around them, one of them so small.

He pulls on a pair of latex gloves as a flash of green rushes through his mind. _Green. Green. Money, maybe, like the last time?_

''Jon's on his way,'' Summer says, patting him on the back quickly before she moves forward, leaving him standing in his place, looking at the wreck dumbfounded, trying to make sense of the situation.

''Yeah,'' he replies. Of course he is.

*

Just eight hours earlier they were laying on the couch, too narrow to properly fit them both, not that Patrick exactly minded laying half on top of Jon.

''You should concentrate more,'' he says, his fingers trailing along Jon's forearm. ''I can still read you.''

''Maybe I really don't want to,'' Jon smiles a small smile before he plants a kiss on Patrick's temple.

''I'm serious, Jon,'' Patrick insists, dizzy with all the feelings he feels radiating through Jon's skin. ''You need to shield if we're going to do this.''

''Is it really that bad?''

''Yeah, I mean... Yeah. You know what was one of the main reasons I wanted to become a crime scene investigator? I could wear gloves all the time and no one would look at me funny. It's bad with people, usually, but it's so much worse when it's someone I _want_ to touch.''

''You want to touch me?'' Jon whispered against Patrick's ear.

''More than you know.''

*

 _Murder. Murder. Murder._ The word always runs around in his head with each homicide, taunting him, every single one. A sedan wedged against a splintered tree at the bottom of a gully with skid marks all the way down. It doesn't look like a murder - it looks like the blonde missed the curve in the dark and went over the edge. It's happened before on this stretch of road. But Patrick knows better. "The water bottle," he murmurs to Summer. "Let's get it to Duncs."

She takes it without a word, gratitude obvious on her face as she walks away, up the hill and towards the car. Of course she's thankful, thankful to get away from the lifeless tiny corpse still strapped to the car chair in the backseat. 

Patrick quickly peels of his glove and touches the blonde's wrist, the words instantly screaming in his brain. _They're gonna kill me, oh my god, I'm gonna die, no, what about my baby, no-._ But that's all the gets and he knows he's not gonna get more. No information on what happened before the car went of the road, no flash of any other vehicle that might have been out here with them.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Summer making her way down and he puts his glove back on. Her face is pale and her eyes almost watery as she hands him a tweezer.

''You okay?'' he asks her. ''Seabs looked like he might lose his lunch for a sec there.''

''I'll be fine,'' she replies, zipping up the plastic bag in which he dropped the shatters of glass that were tangled in the woman's hair. A shadow falls over them and they both look up. Jon's standing there. His sheriff's hat is the perfect rakish angle on his head and seeing it always makes Patrick feel better. "Hey, Boss," Summer says to him.

''You got here fast,'' Patrick says, standing up.

''I had a feeling you'd be calling,'' he replies, looking around, his gaze travelling accross the crime scene. ''What's the bad news?''

*

Hunting Falls was a small town and that's what Patrick liked about it. He grew up in Buffalo and that was about as big as he could handle. He lasted exactly one night in New York City. Let's not mention neither Buffalo nor New York exactly had tall, dark and handsome county sheriffs who understood right away that Patrick was different. _I process information in a very... unique way,_ Patrick used to say and everyone would look at him differently and he knew there were alarms going off in their heads, _What is he talking about?_

But, Jon. Jon just understood. Patrick said that very sentence to him, too and Jon had just said _Explain it to me._

Patrick tried to argue because at first he wasn't sure Jon could handle it. But Jon pressed him more, before Patrick said, _It's a long story_ , and Jon replied, _Well, I got time_ , as he dropped his finished cigarette on the floor and stubbed it out with his toe.

Patrick told him about all his previous work experiences, none of them interlaced with particularly fond memories.

Jon said, ''They're just afraid of you.''

''Most people don't even believe in paranormal,'' Patrick replied, looking away from his eyes.

''I do.''

*

Jon pulls him away from the wreck, a little bit to the side where the air is clearer and Patrick can actually take a deep breath without feeling the aftermath of inhaling half of someone's thoughts.

As per usual, Jon asks about the headache. ''Fucking killer,'' Patrick replies, rolling his head to try to ease out some of the stiffness in his neck, ''But totally worth it.''

''It's what you always say,'' Jon says and he's right. They'd been working like this long enough for Jon to know all the lies Patrick tells on scenes. ''Just think about the all the delicious pasta I'll make for you when we get home. And then you can have something else that's delicious, too,'' he smirks and Patrick wants to slap him on the shoulder but his hand stops in mid-air when Jon steps away.

Patrick notices he's not wearing any gloves now and he mentally feels thankful for Jon being one step ahead, always. But, still, even while bordering sensory overload at the moment, Patrick thinks, _If there's any touch I could stand right now, it would be yours._

Jon just sticks both of his hands in his pockets. ''Same M.O. as last time?''

''We've got a serial on our hands.''

*

It's dark again when Patrick leaves the station, yawning into the night and rubbing his neck with the hand not holding a stack of file folders. He's standing next to his car digging in his pocket for the keys when Jon comes up next to him. "Hey."

"Hey."

"You coming over?"

"I should really review the crime scene photos again," Patrick hedges.

Jon rolls his eyes. Softly, he says, "You should get a decent night's sleep, and that means not looking at victim pictures until you pass out on your kitchen table."

"What do you mean? That's good times." Patrick gives him a smile he knows is tired and unconvincing. "Are you safe to go home?"

"Seabs, despite the fact that he can't look directly at a dead body, is an excellent third shift supervisor," Jon says wryly. "Give him a few more years and he'll be running against me in the election." He touches Patrick's wrist briefly. "Come on, Patty; let's get some sleep, at least until they wake us up with the next one."


End file.
